Star Wars: Vaults of Dellalt
by TIE-Writer91
Summary: XIM THE DESPOT was an infamous pirate-king, forging an empire in the days before the Republic. The pirate was ultimately defeated, but his treasures lay buried. They sit awaiting anyone brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to search for them. Now, thousands years before the Clone Wars and before the Empire, a crew of desperate adventurers seek the legendary vaults of Xim.
1. Chapter 1

STAR WARS: Vaults of Dellalt

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A FAN FICTION PIECE. THIS IS NOT AFFILIATED WITH Del Ray, Disney, Lucasarts, OR ANY OTHER LICENSE. THIS WORK IS NOT TO BE SOLD UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. ANY COMMONALITY TO OTHER WORKS IS COINCIDENCE.

Special thanks: Fa/tg/uys, particularly X-wing and Ship for all their work in keeping the swg best general and advice; my girlfriend, and a very, very special thanks to George Lucas. And lastly thank you for reading babby's first fanfic.

STAR WARS: Vaults of Dellalt

XIM THE DESPOT was an infamous pirate-king, forging an empire in the days before the Republic. The pirate was ultimately defeated, but his treasures lay buried. They sit awaiting anyone brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to search for them. Now, thousands years before the Clone Wars and before the Empire, a crew of adventurers seek the legendary vaults of Xim, hungry for the wealth within…

 _And so XIM spoke and told_

 _That it was he who owned our gold_

 _And dragged it to vaults_

 _That he hid on Dellalt_

 _And pity and poor were we_

 _Then the Jed'Hai came_

 _Swords in their sheathes, power in hand_

 _And brought an end to the terrible man_

 _But though his reign ended XIM's power is told_

 _Through his great kingdom and vaults that hold_

 _Our crowns and our staves, goblets and jewels_

 _And to Dellalt came brigands and prospecting fools_

 _For who are we to resist the wealth of whole worlds_

 _We who search these dunes and these fjords_

 _Even as greed causes friendships to twist and unfurl_

 _A greed so strong it will devour this World!_

-Poem from a dying prospector, c. 15,000 years BBY.

Chapter One

"Please ensure all hands and feet are inside the aisle during descent. Do not move to the restroom unless allowed by an attendant. Ensure all food trays are packed away into the seat. Once again, thank you for choosing Republic Skyway!"

Iro heard the automated voice, but paid it no mind. He kept his eyes closed and tried to get another minute of sleep as the rust-red cruiser began its atmospheric descent. Hypersleep had left him restless, and a month's travel even more so. He longed for a bed, or even the cryo pods. Hibernation was no substitute for a good night's rest. As he readjusted in the torn synth-leather seat, he felt the turbulence from reentry and heard the blast shields slide over the viewports.

"Please remain seated. Turbulence is expected on reentry. As always, thank you for choosing Republic Skyway!"

That voice had been the last voice he heard before the cryopod, and he was certain it would be the last voice he heard getting off the ship. He almost prayed that the _Comet III_ would suffer some catastrophic accident to avoid hearing it one last time. The thump finally made Iro open his eyes, red still from the hibernation. He ran his hands through his chestnut hair and stood up to stretch, a vain attempt to relieve himself from grogginess. He wished they had pulled them out of sleep more than a few hours before arrival.

The cruiser finished its descent with a disconcertingly-heavy _thump_ as the landing gear sunk two centimeters into the raw ground, the landing pad crudely suggested with fluorescent orange spray paint. With one final automated announcement, Iro made his way past the attending droid and toward the cargo compartment. Immediately the unloading-droids took to their work, long power cords connecting them to the ship's reactor. The yellow-white loaders picked up his bag and threw it into a crude pile.

 _Would have been nice if they could have just passed it to me_ , Iro thought as he started shuffling the pile about. He found his brown bag, the last possessions he had, and began to walk out of the "Star port".

His eyes slowly adjusted to the world around him. It was a land of dust, and light-red dirt. A mesa stood as the watchful attendant for the salt wastes to the north, and a faint strip of khaki was the hint at plant-life. Still the smoke and skyline gave away the semblance of civilization, a short two miles away. So far it looked virtually nothing like the brochures.

Many of the other passengers stood outside the _Comet_ in a line for the cabs and busses. Iro looked longingly at his empty wallet, both a reminder of why he was here and macabre wishing. Like many he bought the Republic's advertisements and left Coruscant after it reached its forty-billionth resident, just as he fled Corellia after the White Grain Blight. Now, Dellalt was reminding him of the latter. "Make a fortune building worlds" was the official tagline. He suddenly was overcome by a feeling that told him this was going to be a long day.

Still struggling with natural gravity, he began the long march towards the city of Sterling. Named for its now-depleted silver veins, it was the first Republic settlement in the solar system. On several occasions he stretched his hand out to passers-by in attempt to get a ride; he was denied every time. He couldn't help but think the last car swerved towards him on purpose.

An hour's march along the road and he reached the edge of the town. Like many settlements on the frontier, it had the usual white, plastic, pre-fab houses, fused together with duraglue and solder. In his past life he had worked on commercial construction in the past. He could recognize quality; he saw nothing of the sort here. Iro took his first steps past the gate and entered a new world.

"Fried Remor for sale! Freshest for a hundred kilometers!" a Toydarian vendor yelled at Iro, holding some type of breaded fish. Feeling hunger pains, but also the comparative emptiness of his pocket, Iro continued on. Past the bars and food carts came the brothels; a twilek woman bent down and revealed herself suggestively, prices for flesh in a neon-framed sign. Unfortunately for her, Iro was familiar with the signs and lures used by dens of such iniquity. Such places were becoming all too common in Coruscant, particularly in the city of Arborwatch he had just left. It wasn't a good sign if that was how people obtained "fortune" here.

Partly out of thirst, partly out of desperation for work, and partly out of spite for the hot yellow sun Iro wandered his way towards a Corellian drinking hole, The Hot Rod. The sign was one of those new speeders he had seen in advertisements, with a fiery paintjob on the port and starboard turbine-mounts. At 100 kilometers an hour and floating half a meter off the ground it was the type of luxury he wished he could have afforded during his life. Maybe if he could make it big here.

The door hissed open and he smelled the familiar scent of death sticks hanging in the air, as well as the potent odor of faux-Corellian Ale; you could always smell the acid from the artificial flavoring process. Some turned their heads as he entered, most kept to their yellow brews. Unlike Iro most of them wore ragged beards, flannel, and numerous types of hats. Most of their clothes were stained in some manner, and most wore far-worse farmer's tans than he ever had. In contrast he felt over-dressed wearing his engineer's belt-and-suspenders over a clean coyote-brown tee.

He sat down at the bar and a twi'lek with a thick collar looked down from her work polishing the taps. _So that's what type of world this is_ , he thought to himself as he could see the explosive warning near the collar's key-hole.

"Oka tie do ay?" the young alien asked him, her normally blue skin tinted purple from the red-neon signs everywhere around. He didn't speak a lick of Twi'lek, nor did he have one of those Protocol droids that spoke a few hundred languages.

"I'm sorry, do you speak Coruscanti?" He asked futilely. Most people who could speak Coruscanti used it with humans, and it's not like Twi'leks were physically unable to speak it.

"Chaka nord kosa Luxam torg'u" she replied. He watched as she made her way past the taps and into the back room. He heard another voice, male, Corellian, and a heavy-set man with salt-and-pepper hair and patchy beard came from the back.

"Sorry about that friend, she doesn't speak Coruscanti that well yet. Haven't broken her in all the way I guess. What'll it be?" The genial man asked, his smile betraying a hint of sadism as he said "broke her in". Iro looked to him, then looked at the bag he dragged in.

"Oh, another off-worlder then? By the Force that's the second passenger ship this month, how many of you are coming?! Just kidding, as long as the checks clear you can all come, makes no difference to me. Names Luxam Chan" Luxum said, the Greeter's Smile still on his face. Iro was taken back by the one ounce of agreeableness he had found on this planet.

"Yeah, just got here. "I'm looking for work, if you know any."

"Just so happens I might, for a hardworking person. What did you do in your last job?" Luxom sad, his thick lips forming into a grin.

Iro began to review what he had done. Years of construction was hard to put into a sentence; it would be easier to state what he hadn't done. "Mining engineering. I mostly did runoff and waste system design for coal excava-"

"Excellent my boy, I know just the job for someone with experience. My cousin Malon runs a construction crew out in the Brenar Heights, to the West. Want to know more, show up at the site in the morning and tell him I sent you," Luxom said excitedly.

Iro felt his stomach rumble at the sound of Pinlo oil pouring onto a skillet, vegetables and meat being stir-fried within. Luxom seemed to hear and turned to him. "Feeling hungry, countryman?"

Iro's pride was surpassed by his hunger. For cryosleep it is recommended you go on a liquid diet for a full 24 hours beforehand, and the ship possessed only salted crackers for sustenance. "It smells really good, but I'm a bit short on credits. Could I trouble a fellow Corellian for a meal?"

Luxom looked down at Iro's bag. "Maybe we can come up with a trade. Digital credits are no good here anyway. What's in the bag?"

"Um..." Iro muttered as he began to work his way through. Clothes that wouldn't fit Luxom, toiletries, a picture of Iro and his parents, a communicator, nothing terribly valuable.

"Aha! What do we have here..." Luxom exclaimed as he pulled out a small container of blue liquid. "Alderaanian cologne, eh? Don't worry, you won't be needing it on this planet anyway."

Iro stared at the bottle. He had bought it under the assumption it could help at job interviews. Back home it would have cost nearly 100 credits. The meal itself was scarcely more than 10, drinks included. But he was desperate.

Before Iro could speak, Luxom shouted back at the Twi'lek girl now working the stove. "Pakuni! Toya nalsun!" He then pointed her towards Iro and she delivered a plate loaded with stir fry. He could taste the warm, browned nerf and steaming vegetables just from the smell.

"Good, glad that's all settled." Luxom said as Iro glanced one last time at the cologne bottle. The twi'lek passed along a fork and napkin and started to fill the glass with the fake Corellian ale, and Iro took his first bites.

Iro couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't that he had lost on the deal, he certainly knew that. It's that he had no other option. Like so many he had gambled it all on the frontier. Over a hundred thousand credits later, here he was. His research, his planning, it was all obsolete the second he got on the Comet, he saw that now. It was all on him now, and the roller coaster was just getting started.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _Shhlick. Shhlick. Shhlick_. Iro shoved the blade of the shovel into the wet clay, prying and bending the handle to pry the lump from the ground. The sticky clay sucked and slurped as it clung to itself, forming vacuum seals as Iro pulled and twisted the shovel. He braced his boot against the wall of the ditch and pulled back. With an unsatisfying slop sound the clay gave, tossing him onto his back.

Iro stood up, panting in the brutal heat matched by the menial task. He propped the survey rod up to match the survey laser down the trench. Its solid tone told him he was 15 centimeters in the ground, right where he needed to be. He turned to the other diggers nearby and yelled down the line.

"Hey where are the S35s?" Iro needed the pipes to connect the aerator to the leech fields, and for some reason they kept being moved.

"The droid took them down there, I think." A Duro said back, pointing toward the box trucks.

Iro looked over at the fluorescent orange and yellow construction droid. It rolled around on its rubber treads, moving the pallet of plastic septic chambers around with its pneumatic pincers. Once again it was struggling to move past the pile of gravel, evidently unsure if it should traverse the pile or try to go through the ditch adjacent.

"Hey!" Iro vainly shouted at the top of his breath. The droid could barely hear anything over its own engine, let alone anyone else. Iro picked up a piece of gravel and threw it in front of the droid. Its periscope turned toward him and he waived it down. Once again, it struggled with moving towards him.

 _Piece of Bantha shit droid_... Iro thought to himself as he got out of the ditch and walked towards it. It wasn't entirely the droids fault. Their navigation and pathfinding system was largely dependent on Planetary Navigation System technology, and no PNS system existed for Dellalt. Without it, they tended to get lost quickly, particularly when their optics get obstructed by dirt and dust.

He ran up to the machine, it's petrol engine humming, and he shouted at it. "I need four S35s. Do you understand what I'm saying? The green plastic pipes. Right there." The machine's head LED flashed green and it made a high-pitched trill, the only method of communication it had. He sighed and walked back towards the trench. For a moment he stopped working and allowed the wind to lift the heat from his face. He was using his water too fast, but there was no sign of respite.

Iro and the other two-dozen workers labored away, using solvents then glue to bind pipes, clicking plastic chambers together, and rolling tarp over the chambers to protect their work from earth. The first half of the septic line was run by lunch, and as they finished Iro waited for the truck to arrive. He had been told lunch would be provided, as had the cot back at the camp just outside town. He stared thirsting after the damp gravel exposed by their shoveling, as well as the water just past the clay.

The smell reached them before the truck did. It smelled of fruit and boiling sausages and baked bread. He and others stood hungrily in line. He was troubled by watching the remainder to the back; they brought plastic bags with their own food. The watching men were older and dirtier, two of the men in line with Iro shared the Comet with him just a day before. The two groups stood separate, the supervisor eying the older men down. Their brows were furrowed, severe.

Iro looked up to see a familiar face, Luxom. He passed out cooked sausage, bread, and a medley of bright fruit. Water poured out from a barrel to the empty bottles of the laborers. Always cheery, Luxom turned to Iro.

"Long day, eh boy?"

Iro looked back at the septic field. "Yeah, but at least it pays. Thanks again for the tip Luxom, your cousin assigned me to this team right away."

"Oh don't mention a thing, happy to help a newcomer," said Luxom, waving his hands in dismissal.

Iro's group of diggers and chamber-layers ate their fill and satisfied their thirst, eating in the shade of the condo complex behind them. The Republic was subsidizing construction on the frontier, this was just another in a long line of tax breaks and grants.

They returned to their task as the heat reached its peak. From here, fortunately, the droid could do most of the work. They revealed in the short break as it buried the field and shuffled the gravel about. It was 1600 when they finally heard the end whistle from the supervisor, now they simply had to get back to camp a kilometer away. Fortunately, they had a bus to shuttle them to the camp. He watched the other group from before walk their own way. Iro couldn't help but think to himself _I Wonder what they are doing..._

Iro returned to the camp and stood in front of the shower head. He watched the water turn brown as it pulled the dirt and sweat from his body, pooling before flowing away. He felt his muscles relax and loosen, and after using the soap dangling from the basket he at last felt clean. _Now it's pay day..._

Iro sat just outside the office with a dozen others. The office was long and had two doors, one in the front and one in the back. A severe Bothan supervisor began to instruct them.

"When you are called go in the door, collect your pay, and exit the opposite door down the hall. Don't cause problems, don't waste my time." Simple, Iro appreciated that.

He sat there for several minutes before hearing the Bothan say "Iro Vansa, now." He walked in and was struck by the cool air and thick walls. The pay station was little more than a theater ticket-box with thick bars and matching glass. A small metal tray and drilled holes completed the feeling of a bank versus a payroll office.

"Iro... From your time card, that will be... One hundred and twenty-two credits." Said Malon, his painted lavender upper-lip curling up. His fiery hair was neatly trimmed, his gold suit being a statement of fashion rather than utility. It was a drastic change from the mechanic's overalls Iro saw earlier.

 _This is my lucky day_ , Iro excitedly thought. That was a lot more than the seventy-five a day that was discussed.

"Thank you mister Malon, I really appre-"

"No, that will be a hundred and twenty-two _for us_. Here's your seventy-five." Malon snapped at him. Iro was confused.

"I... I don't understand, sir..." Iro stammered uncertainly.

"The bed, the power, the food, the water, the tools. One hundred and twenty-two is what it comes up to. Pay your tab at the end of the week with an extra five-percent interest if you wish. Thank you."

Iro froze, staring at the paltry seventy-five credits put in front of him. He was already starting in debt, nearly fifty in the hole. He now understood this world perfectly. He understood the collars, the behavior of the workers, and the camp. It was a legal slave camp, and he had just signed a contract for his own freedom with his debt. He was enraged.

"Fierfeking nerf shit!" Iro shouted at Malon on the other end, banging on the divider. Iro didn't notice Malon press a button under the counter, nor did he hear the door next to him open. "That was never mentioned by you or your cousin! You said everything would be provided! I'm not paying you a dam-"

Iro was interrupted by a flash in his vision, followed immediately by his head striking the floor. The Bothan stood over him, a collapsible shock baton in hand. Iro struggled to move as his nerves were on fire and his muscles spasmed. Malon looked down at him, then at the Bothan.

"Provided at your expense. Also, causing problems and little outbursts like this will be another twenty-five credits. Mister Kor'a, please escort Mister Vansa out the door."

Iro barely stayed conscious enough to see the world upside down as he was dragged and tossed down the steel steps into the alley. He heard a voice come from above, the alien figure backlit by the fluorescent lights in the office. "Work begins at 0600."

As he faded, Kor'a's lips curled into a smile and through a sneer said "By the way, missing work is a two-hundred credit fine."

Then the door slammed, the machine ready to process its next victim.


End file.
